May, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
267 
back and smoked for awhile, drinking in 
the glorious landscape. Skilak Lake lay 
shimmering peacefully far below while 
iway to the west at sky-line stretched 
Cook’s inlet, pierced by Mounts Illiamma 
and Redoubt. Through our glasses we 
made out two cannery ships lying off the 
town of Kenai, and down in the bottom 
land between a cow moose was feeding. At 
ane o’clock we shouldered our packs, picked 
up our guns and started off across the roof 
of the range, picking our way over the 
tundra of moss and brush for six miles, 
beading for a cut in the mountains beyond. 
Always looking for signs of game on 
the mountain tops, we at last discovered 
two white specks high up on a peak ahead 
and down came packs and out came glasses. 
“Sheep,” said Walter, and so they proved 
to be, the first we had seen, and we were 
thrilled and excited to the utmost. As we 
drew nearer to them we saw that they were 
ewes, feeding slowly upward toward the 
top of the mountain. We kept them in view 
most of the afternoon until we passed 
around the base of the mountain and en¬ 
tered a draw on our way to the valley of 
the Killey. Then as we emerged from the 
cut and looked back toward the mountain 
from the other side, the sheep were com¬ 
ing over the top and for a moment were 
silhouetted against the sunset, a wild and 
wonderful spectacle. 
Passing two little ponds of clear water 
that lay, emerald-like, between snow peaks 
we soon began a steep descent, picking our 
way over very rough country. Far below 
we looked into as wild and lonesome a 
valley as any sportsman could wish for— 
where the moose find the bear fight for 
the freedom of the woods and only the 
porcupine are neutral. Down we dropped, 
even deeper into its mystery and silence. 
Soon long shadows crept across our path, 
reminding us that night was at hand and 
we began to look for a place to camp. A 
little later we crossed a tiny brook and on 
a knoll of long grass beyond we pitched 
our tent and prepared our evening meal. 
VVe were tired—dead tired—this had been 
aur first real hard day of labor since we 
had left Seward. 
Back packing over rough country soon 
lakes the stains of civilization away—all 
uxuries fall off, one by one and the primal 
facts of life stand out, clean cut and 
wholesome; food and rest are the only 
flings that count. As we lay in the deep¬ 
ening twilight we felt strangely content 
tor we were in the heart of the wilderness 
md we had seen the white sheep. 
Starting early the next morning we 
vaded through long wet grass for a few 
miles, climbing and descending through 
lenches, and then started downward on our 
as: descent to the bottom land. As we 
ame over a knoll a few minutes after 
ireaking camp a huge bull moose rose up 
rom his bed in the grass below us and, 
lowly trotting ahead, disappeared up a 
Iraw to the right. He carried large antlers, 
veil shaped and heavy, but still in velvet, 
o we silently watched him depart through 
he early morning light. A little later we 
bsturbed another one and he too vanished 
nto the wilderness, tossing his lordly ant- 
srs, a little peeved perhaps for being called 
o early. These two moose were fine speci¬ 
mens of the giant species, for which the 
venai is justly famous. We began to think 
hat we were really in a wonderful game 
country as a little later we watched a black 
bear feeding just above timber line on a 
mountain across the valley and another 
band of sheep far away in the land toward 
which we were slowly journeying. 
A BOUT ten o’clock we completed our 
descent and came out on Benjamin 
Creek, a few hundred yards above its 
junction with Killey river and we were con¬ 
fronted with the problem of crossing. Choos¬ 
ing a large cottonwood tree that grew near 
the bank, Andy and Ben felled it across the 
water to an island near the farther bank 
and we all crossed safely to this first step¬ 
ping stone. Between the island and our 
desired land ran a swift and deep current 
but Andy and Ben improvised another 
crossing with two drift logs and Mackay 
and 1 got across.—We looked back just in 
time to see Walter with his heavy pack 
break one of the logs and dive into the 
icy water. Tom, Ben and Andy sprang to 
the rescue—Walt hung on to the remaining 
log for dear life until, released of his pack, 
he scrambled out wet to the skin and minus 
his hat but otherwise unharmed as a broad 
grin testified. Adjusting his load he crossed 
single-handed on the one remaining log. 
“No matter if you’re cold and wet you are 
always warm and dry,” he sang as we 
wended our way through the cottonwoods 
on our trail to the land beyond. 
For two hours we toiled along the north 
bank of the Killey River through a country 
well covered with spruce and hemlock, and 
after a short stop for lunch we began our 
last climb to sheep country. It was a tough 
climb and the packs seemed to be twice as 
heavy as they had been the day before. It 
was astonishing to watch the splendid fel¬ 
lows we had with us accept their burdens in 
such a good natured way. Always willing 
to follow at the point of exhaustion who¬ 
ever happened to be leading, until the leader 
sagged slowly to earth, signalling a few 
moments of glorious rest all along the line. 
No soft cushioned chair ever felt so good 
as did the resting places along that trail. 
At three o’clock we came out on a little 
lake nestling high among the crags and we 
sat down to rest in the sunshine. Two 
lonely ducks were swimming out toward the 
farther end. Around the lake in serried 
array rose the mountain tops we were to 
hunt, snowjmtches and glaciers, bare cliffs 
At our base camp on Skilak Lake we set up a tent and cached our supplies 
We crossed Killey River on an improvised bridge of slender cottonwoods 
